


Pale Shelter

by jdjunkie



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-18
Updated: 2011-02-18
Packaged: 2017-10-15 18:17:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/163554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdjunkie/pseuds/jdjunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was a fling. This was fun. This was sex with no strings, no future. But it had never been sex with no past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pale Shelter

**Author's Note:**

> Sabrina Gosling is Catherine Langford's niece, who appeared in all of one short scene in the episode Moebius Part One. I saw sparks.

She awoke to the unaccustomed feeling of skin against her skin. It was warm, deliciously male and, for a second, Sabrina panicked. Sharing a bed was rare for her. The fact that she felt the need to reach out and touch the body she was partially wrapped around, simply to make sure it was real, brought home to her in a very tangible way how unusual this was in her life.

He was still asleep, gently mouth breathing, the sound a welcome presence in her bedroom.

The light was cutting through the blinds, making sharp, defined patterns on the wall above the bed. It was morning, probably late morning. She couldn’t remember when she’d last slept so late.

 Her legs were tangled with his, the rest of her body half turned into the mattress. Her face was pushed into the gap between the pillows. It was an awkward position and her back ached a little, but she didn’t want to move for fear of waking him and losing this physical closeness that was so rare and becoming so important. Too important. But damn, it felt good.

One thousand, two thousand, three thousand … she soaked up his proximity, his smell; a mixture of fading aftershave, last night’s sweat and sex. It was intoxicating, overpowering, visceral.

With something approaching astonishment, she found she wanted to rub herself into that heady mix of scents, let him mark her. Property of Dr. Daniel Jackson. Except she knew she could never belong to him because he would never belong to her, and her days of one-way-street relationships had ended in college.

She resisted the urged to stretch herself awake, choosing instead to hitch slightly further into the broad expanse of bare back. Beneath the covers it was warm, a cavern of comfort, and she sighed as her breasts pushed against smooth skin. Slowly, she moved her head until it rested on the nape of his neck. Without thought, she turned gentle lips to his skin and kissed, once, twice, then nuzzled into his hair.

He stirred, took a deep breath in and she felt him tense slightly as awareness crept over him. It was momentary. His body relaxed when he grasped where he was, who he was with. He breathed out, said “Mmmmm” and shifted to turn onto his back.  She accommodated the move, tucked her head on his shoulder and laid an arm across his chest, stopping herself from grazing his nipples and stroking that hairless chest.

After laying a kiss on his shoulder, she looked up at his face. Sleep-lax and muzzy, he looked younger than his years, hauntingly vulnerable without his glasses. He’d grown a beard since the last time she saw him. It looked good on him; she was surprised at the amount of red in it. The colors fascinated her. He blinked into full consciousness, turning stunning blue eyes on her. His face was open, relaxed, without that concentrated tightness that sometimes made him seem unreachable.

She loved his intelligence, which was written into every line on his face, but it could be intimidating. Here, in the first moments of waking, he was just Daniel, not the Dr. Jackson who sometimes seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.

She hugged this moment of Daniel to herself. This unguarded glimpse of him, this Daniel-fragment, was probably all she would ever really know, and that was starting to hurt her in ways she could not allow.

This was a fling. This was fun. This was sex with no strings, no future. But it had never been sex with no past.

Daniel’s past, whatever it contained, was with them when they went to the movies or the concert hall, ate out, hiked in the mountains and, perhaps most of all, when they went to bed.

His past was like a layer of skin that he could not, or would not, shed. She’d sensed that about him at her aunt’s funeral; the way he spoke of how Catherine had changed his life had held a wistfulness that touched her deeply.

His past _was_ his present, would be his future, and she sensed she had no part in that.

They had seen each other five times in just over three months.

“I can’t see you every week. I can’t make plans. My life is a string of happenings that mean I have to go away on short notice, sometimes with no warning at all. I can’t make promises and I won’t make demands. If you can stand that, I’d like to be with you sometimes. If you want that,” he’d said, haltingly, over Sunday brunch on their first date.

She’d called him on the pretence of making sure the pieces willed to him by her aunt had been delivered safely to Cheyenne Mountain. Then she’d asked if they could meet sometime. She’d like to hear about the Catherine Langford he knew.

“I know there’s a lot you can’t tell me. I mean, I know some of what she did was classified. But I know you know some part of her life that I was never privy to. I’d kind of like to know more about the woman she was.”

Her tears had come then; she’d felt embarrassed, angry, but he’d been kind and reassuring. And Sunday brunch later that week had turned into dinner that same night, and he’d driven her home and they’d talked a little about the Catherine Langford she had never known.

He told her how sad Catherine’s death made him; how she had seen things in him no-one else had. He’d looked a little melancholy, and then added softly, “Almost no-one.” Her death was one of many losses for him, she felt, and, she didn’t know why, but she felt he was confronting another. It was as if, by speaking of her aunt, he was mentally cataloguing every other loss in his life.

It had been comforting and moving and she’d found herself drawn to this enigmatic man, whose beauty, she realized almost straight away, was far more than skin deep. It was so easy to see why her aunt had liked him. Loved him, even. Thought of him as a son.

She smiled as he stretched lazily beneath the covers.

“Morning,” she said, softly.

“Hi,” he replied, reaching to push back hair that had fallen half across her face. He pushed it behind her ear and ran the backs of his knuckles gently down her cheek.

She covered his hand with hers and moved it down to her lips, kissing his fingers. She sucked them into her mouth, one by one, watching his eyes darken. He moved restlessly and she let go of his hand to run her fingers down his body. His belly quivered and she grinned, delighting in the sharp gasp as she took hold of his already hard shaft and used her open palm to rub it against his stomach.

He groaned, squirmed a little, thrust slightly into her hand, raised his arms over his head and pushed his hands under the pillow, bracing against the headboard.

“Awake now?” she asked, teasing.

He breathed out, a ragged exhalation. “Oh yeah.”

She pulled and squeezed, setting up a steady rhythm, making sure his dick never lost contact with his belly. He was leaking, his penis hot velvet over steel. The feel of his pre-come on her fingers turned her on and she moaned, unable to stop herself from leaning in to bite his nipple. That elicited a stifled groan.

She continued to stroke him, pulling a little harder, speeding up, enjoying watching the play of expressions on his face. Daniel made love with his whole body.

He panted, a string of short, clipped “uhuhuhs” warning her that he was close. Then, he pulled her hand away and, asking the question with his eyes, moved to cover her.

A hand on his chest stopped him in mid-roll as she reached for a condom from the bedside cabinet. She put it on him, loving the feel of his dick in her hand.

He entered her with slow, long strokes. Eyes closed, he moved above her, braced on strong arms that she ran her hands up until they cupped over his shoulders. He thrust a little harder and she delighted in the feel of his balls between her legs.

“So good,” she whispered. “Yeah, so good.”

He grunted, a low almost pained sound and thrust harder, then harder still and faster, until she felt the first sullen pangs coiling deep within her.

She came in a trembling rush and cried out his name, pulling him down on to her as the contractions of her orgasm went on and on. She wanted to hold him close, to feel it when he came, to cleave him to her.

But it happened this time just as it had happened at all the others. He came in silence, biting his lip, his forehead creased in distraction and a pain that appeared emotional rather than physical. In those last seconds, he got away from her. He always left her.

He shuddered and she felt his heart beat fast against her chest.

His eyes had been closed since he moved on top of her.

Calming her own breathing, running a soothing a hand down his sweat-slicked back, she turned to watch the sun make patterns on the wall of the bedroom in the house that had been her Aunt Catherine’s and was now hers.

And she wondered where Daniel went, and whose name he bit back when he came.


End file.
